


Anniversary

by Caladenia



Series: The 27th Year [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/pseuds/Caladenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Only one person had ever joined her on that date to remember a mutual friend'.<br/>Bittersweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

* * *

 

She left the bathroom still brushing her greying hair, a towel firmly attached underneath the arms. “I’ll get dressed and then go.”

Chakotay slid a finger in his book to keep the page and looked at her, a resigned look on his face. Dinner had been a quiet affair, the evening hour spent making small talk about the various projects they were working on. She knew that he had been worried about her state of mind over the past few months, but she had do this alone, as she had done every year at that very same date.  
“I’ll be here when you come back,” he said, giving her a light kiss before sitting down on the lounge, a cup of tea in one hand and the hardback volume in the other.

Kathryn turned away, half-smiling. Fifteen years to the day, she had whispered those very same words as an away team was leaving for a routine stellar survey. Of the four crew members who had boarded the shuttle, one had died and the others had been found barely alive in the wreck that had limped back to Voyager hours later.

When she left her quarters, the gamma shift was hurrying down the corridor. She stopped to exchange a few words with Commander Paris who had just finished her stint on the bridge and was on her way to the mess hall for a quick bite. _The three pips still look out of place. I really need to get used to them being on Miral’s collar._

Lost in thoughts, Janeway walked past the door of the newly expanded Science Department. There was nobody there at this late hour. Chakotay had made it a condition of their stepping down from their command roles that they both follow the alpha shift hours from then on. Three months later, the self-appointed Head of Science had only missed dinner in their quarters a couple of times and rarely brought work back with her. Not a bad record considering her past habits. It has been a good call from the former Commander.  
She could not imagine life without him. He had been the one who had helped her off the slippery slide to darkness and then had filled the emptiness left behind.

Her mind went back to the days after the accident. The Captain had taken over. She had headed the investigation into the shuttle explosion, visited the survivors in sickbay, sat with their friends and families, headed the design team in charge of developing new safety protocols to avoid another happenstance, tested the upgraded shuttle herself. Strong, compassionate, decisive.  
Meanwhile, Kathryn had disappeared, hiding in the same bottomless hole that she had dug for herself after her father had died. Lost and alone again.

She got off the turbolift down empty passageways, moving deeper into the bowels of the ship before finally stopping in front of the cargo bay door which swished open at her voice command. The vast space she was now entering was cold and forbidding. Her wrist light showed tall columns of numbered containers stacked securely on top of one another, the far rows disappearing in the gloom.

Not bothering to call for illumination, she walked down the third aisle, her boots making a clipping sound with no echo. She did not slow down until she reached the end of the stacks, a good twenty metres before the far wall.

A small antiquated console jutted from the floor in front of a dark recess. She punched her personal code and a greenish light began to flicker around a large alcove that jarred with the clean lines of the Starfleet ship surrounding it. A circle way above her head started to send jagged rays on a random pattern. The whole set up had a malevolent aura about it but she gazed at it with fondness.  
There was space for a standing adult just underneath the dazzling disc. It had only ever been used by one living being who was not there anymore.

Kathryn sat down on the hard floor, leaning against the console. She looked at the array of conduits and plugs which adorned the Borg regeneration chamber. Once upon a time, she had known that strange piece of machinery inside out. She had helped its owner repair it, improve it, enhance it. Now, it was just another bit of surplus equipment, forgotten by most, used by none.

The day after the funeral, she had told Engineering to remove the alcove from her quarters. One morning it was there, the following evening her bedroom was missing an entire wall. She knew it had been put in storage but had not asked where. It was irrelevant.  
Months later, a young but already resourceful Miral had gone walkabout one afternoon, circumventing all the ship security door locks. Kathryn had searched the cargo bay, looking for the child who might have wandered there. What she had found instead had stopped her heart. Whoever had been in charge of dismantling the alcove from its previous lodgings had not been gentle. She recalled her shock at discovering the gutted Borg equipment heaped against a wall, broken fragments strewn across the deck.  
She had been so angry. Had her crew hated Seven so much? Or had the anger been directed at her guilt for not asking what had been done to the Borg regeneration pod? For ignoring its fate.

Forgetting all about why she had entered the cargo bay in the first place, Janeway had picked up one piece, then another, discovered they fitted together and had set to reconstruct the alcove that very same afternoon.  
After several attempts at raising his captain, Chakotay had found her in the cargo bay, hitting a Borg processing sub-unit with her bare hands, tears streaming down her face. He had gotten hold of her, telling her that he could help her grieve if only she would talk to him. She had accused him of being jealous and of hating the young Borg woman, all the while screaming obscenities. They had both ended up in sickbay, Chakotay with a bloody nose, her curled up on the floor.

After attending to the physical injuries, the Doctor had prescribed twice-weekly counselling sessions, threatening to relieve her of duty if she did not comply. Wondering if he had used that loaded word on purpose, she had abided.

Over the weeks that followed she had started to repair the Borg alcove in earnest, snatching a few hours of precious off time from her duties here and there. At first, she had only talked to the ship’s counsellor about how that work was going, describing the ins and outs of the foreign technology ad nauseam. As the chamber had taken shape, the one-sided conversation had turned to the crew member who had used it, as if she was discussing Seven’s evaluation for a medal commendation.  
Chakotay never interrupted the monotonous voice during the counselling sessions. The Captain’s eyes never met his.  
At her request, he had been there when she had switched the fully operational alcove back on. After a few minutes, he had left her alone, knowing she would open up to him only when she was ready to genuinely talk about her relationship with Seven.  
It had taken her another two months to do so.

She closed her eyes, letting the green light bathe her face. The light and the small sounds the alcove produced during the regeneration cycle were crowding her memories. She remembered the touch of Seven's hands on her back when the younger woman slid in bed beside her and the smell of her own arousal at the feel of her lover’s skin.  
Those short years with Seven had been the most remarkable and frustrating years of her life. Seven was not one to bow down to anybody’s orders until she understood the logic behind them. Being the captain, Kathryn Janeway was not given to the habit of explaining every single decision she made. Some of the rows between them had reverberated through several decks before one or the other, usually the older woman, had calmed down long enough to re-start the conversation and Seven’s education.

Kathryn smiled, recollecting the tall woman stating in her deep sensual voice how the crew would benefit from the Borg’s more efficient ways of doing things. No matter if those improvements were often incompatible with Starfleet equipment or principles. For all the young woman’s beauty, it was that sharp and yet fledgling mind which had drawn her to Seven, first as a mentor, then as a lover for five incredible years.

After one particularly satisfying early morning romp, Kathryn had fingered the implant above Seven’s left eyebrow, asking how it felt to wear the metal grafts. Seven had explained that they were as much a part of her as was her hair. She had added tersely that there was no purpose to such curiosity and had left the warmth of their bed, clearly flustered. Kathryn had dropped the subject immediately, sensitive to the ex-drone discomfort.

 “She wanted you to have this,” the Doctor had said after the funeral, handing Janeway a small box. Like many Voyager crew members, Seven had made the EMH the trustee of her will in the event of her death. She had very few possessions, never one to accumulate much. The Captain had put the package in a bedside drawer, leaving it unopened until Chakotay had asked what it was. She had thought it was a lock of hair as was the custom of the romantic historical periods Janeway liked to recreate on the holodeck.

Kathryn took the implant out of her pocket and put it beside her, her fingers caressing the elegant metal piece. Sentimentality had never been part of the ex-drone’s being and she had possessed an almost flawless recall. This small relic of Borg technology and the thoughtful gesture represented much of the paradox that Seven had been. Unique, unyielding, human, caring.

Footsteps resonated in the aisle behind Janeway. She welcomed the familiar sound. Only one person had ever joined her on that date to remember a mutual friend.

“Captain,” the young man said while sitting at her side, his delicate profile showing against the light.

“Icheb, I am no longer the captain. I have been a plain Science Officer for the past three months now. Call me Kathryn.” She put her hand on his knee and pushed herself up to put some life back in her legs.

The words ‘plain’ and ‘Kathryn Janeway’ did not fit well together, but he did not argue. Instead, he took out two glasses and the traditional bottle of replicated Antarian cider from the bag he brought every year to this very same spot.  
He filled her glass first, then his. He could not see the colour of the drink very well in the green light but the apple-like smell started to make its potency known.

“Do you regret giving up the captaincy?” he asked, his head cocked at her.

Many people had asked her that very same question. She had answered them with parts of the truth: it was time to let the younger officers take charge, this generational ship needed a command change, she wanted to spend more time doing research and teaching the ever growing number of children born on Voyager.

She took a sip of her glass, savouring the sharp taste. It was their custom to finish the bottle so there was no hurry.

It had not been her decision alone. Chakotay was tired, feeling too worn out to survive more away missions and fend off random attacks. He had never been after the captaincy and did not want to serve under anybody else than her. Their teenage children were demanding more of their time as they grew up, rather than less. So the Captain and her First Officer had resigned together, with a six month hand over to the new command team. It was not like they were going to disappear in the sunset. If Captain Kim and Commander Paris needed their advice, they were only one comm badge away.

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “I regret not having all that make Voyager the best ship in this Quadrant at my command. I miss that.”

“But?”  
Naomi had done a good job at helping her spouse develop a keen insight into people’s psyche, she thought. Seven, older and so much more stubborn, was still trying to grow that aspect of her humanity when she had been killed in the freak shuttle accident. She would have never asked that short but potent question if the previous answer had satisfied her sense of logic.

“But.” Kathryn rolled the word in her mind. “But, I have lost enough people,” she finally conceded, contemplating her glass.

Sounded selfish. As if she had given the new captain a box full of names, told him that was his job now to send them to their deaths and washed her hands clean of any further responsibility. Still, after twenty-seven years as Voyager’s captain, maybe she did deserve some rest from the guilt.

She gulped the remainder of her drink and Icheb filled up her glass again. He was still holding onto his. He never consumed alcohol, synthetic or otherwise, except for that one annual pilgrimage to honour his long gone friend.  
Over the next hour, they drank what was left of the bottle, exchanging family news (Naomi was expecting their second child) and ship gossip (Chell’s cooking mainly). They did talk about Seven, a few words only. Over the years, they had told and re-told their stories many times. Now it was the quiet companionship they appreciated most of all.

The bottle emptied, they switched off the alcove and returned to their lives. Leaving the cavernous cargo bay behind, Kathryn blinked at the sudden onslaught of light and sound. While she stood on the door threshold getting her emotional bearings back, Icheb unexpectedly hugged her, murmuring a thank you. Her body stiffened at first from surprise, then she responded ‘appropriately’ as Seven would have said, embracing him warmly.

_It has been a good day, today. And not just for me_ , Janeway smiled, watching the young Brunali man disappear down the corridor. _The ship’s counsellor will be pleased._

* * *

 


End file.
